


And nights bright days when dreams do show me thee

by DarkmoonSigel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Angst with a Happy Ending, Astral Plane, BAMF Lydia Martin, BAMF Stiles, Biting, Bonding, Dark, F/M, M/M, Magic, Magical Lydia Martin, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Marking, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Scent Marking, Slow Build, Soul Bond, Soulmates, The Alpha Pack, Wolf Derek, Wolf Derek Hale, Wolf Pack, spirtual journey, were stiles but not how you think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonSigel/pseuds/DarkmoonSigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dark, esoteric fiction about magic, mates, and the bonds that lie between two beings whether they want them to exist or not. Magic, marking, sex, banter, and werewolves. What more do you want?<br/>There will have a happy ending though the journey toward it may be a little rough going at times. Some spoilers if you are not caught up to Season 2 and this fiction pretty much ignores the ongoing events of Season 3. </p>
<p>NO BETA. GRAMMAR NAZIS READ AT OWN RISK!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 'My troublous dreams this night doth make me sad' or 'Derek and Stiles are hot messes in their own special ways'

**Author's Note:**

> NO BETA. And the usual 'I don't own this and am making no money off of it' insert.
> 
> I'll just leave this here. Another Teen Wolf story......  
> 'sighs'  
> Love it? hate it? It's here, it's queer, get used to it.  
> The title is from Shakespeare. Culture to the face, bitches.
> 
> “All days are nights to see till I see thee/And nights bright days when dreams do show me thee.”  
> Sonnet 43, 13-14

It was the wolf that noticed it first, inborn instinct really. Derek should have known better to ignore it, carelessly dismissing the input from the other half of himself. If he started to do that, he would be not better than that little fool Scott. The boy who didn’t see the bite for the gift that it was thought his wolf was something that was separate from himself, an entity that needed to be tamed or controlled like an animal. That kind of thinking would only do him more harm than good in the long run and even might make him lose control or eventually get him killed. 

Even though Derek was one with his wolf and had been since birth, he resisted. He questioned his other half, the deepest parts of himself in disbelief. The man felt the animal within was wrong, had to be wrong, at least about this. The wolf snarled back, hurt by the questioning and ultimately, the denial. It roared that it would know its mate.

It was the only consistent ongoing argument that Derek had with himself but it was the one that unbalanced him the most. A mate was a serious matter and one that was not taken lightly by any werewolf, even more so with an alpha. A mate meant home and security, giving a peace similar to bliss. Pack, family, and unity was all to a wolf, making every member stronger, faster, and most importantly, whole. 

A mate was for life though. It was not something you could drop on someone who was not only human with no prior lifetime knowledge of werewolves but also someone who wasn’t even old enough to buy a pack of cigarettes legally. 

It was complicated on many, many different levels, so much so Derek chose to shove all of it to the back of his mind, ignoring instinct that chewed his nerve endings raw every single time he encountered the object of his wolf’s desire. In answer, the wolf retaliated, bodily slamming itself against the cell of his body, their body, demanding that he take what was his, what was theirs. It whined pitifully when Derek pointedly ignored their mate. The lupine howled sad songs that shook the marrow of his bones when Derek was vicious to his mate, usually more so than he actually needed to be. His inner self curled in upon itself, tail between its legs when Derek sent his….their mate away each and every time.

Loneliness was depressing enough to humans but loneliness for wolves was crippling, like dying by inches. Cloyingly painful was the need for pack, even more so for one’s mate. Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and even Jackson filled in some of the burned out void, making Derek‘s life bearable. Even being around Scott was helpful in its own way, though the source of his inner turmoil came nearly attached at the hip with the young wayward werewolf.

No, Stiles would never find out. Derek vowed on the moon itself that he would not. The wolf made so such promises though.

Derek should have known better.

In the end, the wolf always was right.

It always won.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Harry Potter was an asshole. 

Well no, he wasn’t. Stiles actually liked the books a lot, but he definitely was beginning to have some serious misgivings about how magic was presented in them. It wasn’t as easy as the wizards had led him to believe. There was no fancy wand flicking, no brooms to fly on, no snazzy robes.

Oh, there were potions though. Potions made from icky smelling things and usually involved a lot of squishy organs and bodily fluids. Stiles was getting pretty damn good at getting out blood stains, mending burns, and the more often than he would have liked ’oh my fucking god, what the hell is that? Is that spleen? When did I handle spleen?’ splatter out of his clothing. 

Spells were a bitch and a half too. Books and tv made them look so easy to cast, like Latin could just roll off of the tongue. At the beginning of his training, Stiles figured hell if two jackasses from Kansas driving around in an Impala could do it, he could to. It turned out, not so much.

In reality, magic was a whole lot of blood, will, and intent. Oh, and a whole buttload of concentration which Stiles was currently having some problems with as Lydia, Deaton, and himself took cover behind the solid mountain ash wood counters of the clinic……..again. 

Stiles wondered where his life had taken such a wrong and twisted turn when a wave of blue flame burning overhead didn’t particularly phase him anymore. Oh yeah, now he remembered. When his best friend got bitten by a crazy werewolf and his reality merrily went to hell in a hand basket. 

“I thought you said you have been practicing the meditation techniques I taught you.”, Deaton said wearily as pale ash lightly dusted all the them with a strange shimmering sparkle. 

“I have! Totally….yes….”, Stiles attempted to defend himself. It wasn’t his fault he had so much on his mind and honestly Adderall could only do so much. Between the drama of Jackson being a lizard assassin thing, the threat of the alpha pack looming overhead, and his own newly discovered talent for magic, Stiles admittedly had a lot on his plate at the moment, more so than the average teen and the normally prescribed dosage had to deal with. Like his current unusual problem of maintaining a fireball that apparently shed glitter like a girl going to prom when it exploded. 

“Obviously.”, Lydia sniped, wrinkling her perfect nose in disgust at the sparkly mess that used to be her outfit. 

“Crap. It’s like pixie exploded in here. How do you get this stuff off?”, Stiles groaned, picking himself off of the ground now that threat of being flambéed alive was over. He halfheartedly attempted to dust himself off to find that the glitter clung to his skin.

“Why are you asking me?”, Lydia sighed in distaste, finding that she was getting the same result.

“You’re a member of the female persuasion.”, Stiles shrugged, grinning lopsidedly at her.

“So?”, Lydia arched a brow of warning, daring Stiles to continue that train of fail thought, which he did of course. It made Deaton and her wonder if Stiles even bothered such concepts like self-preservation. 

“C’mon, glitter to girls is like crack. Everyone knows that. So what’s the secret? How do I get this shit off and will I have to sacrifice a testicle to find out?”, Stiles flailed around a bit which did nothing to alleviate his state of sparkle. “And should I be worried that this is making me feel pretty?”.

“I think you should be worried about a lot. What about me or my couture fashion sense makes you think I would know anything about trashy stripper glitter?”, Lydia said with a withering glare. Stiles swallowed hard, wondering how he was going to get out of the hole he had just dug himself in. It was rapidly turning into his own grave, if Lydia’s expression was anything to go by. 

“Moving on.”, Deaton interrupted, Stiles silently blessing the man for his innate sense of timing. “Let us finish up the lesson for this evening before cleaning up. I want to talk to you both about your spirit animals. I think it is about time since both of you are nearing the astral plane.” 

“The astral plane? That sounds creepy. Is it creepy?”, Stiles took off his hoodie to try and shake some of the glitter ash out. It was starting to itch. 

“It’s the spaces between worlds and reality. We’re going to spirit walk, aren’t we?!”, Lydia sounded positively excited about the prospect. 

“Very good. I glad to see someone has been actually reading what I have assigned them.”, Deaton sighed, pointedly looked at Stiles who had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed about it. 

“I’ve been reading……”, Stiles made a study of the ceiling to avoid seeing Deaton’s perpetual look of infinite patience tinged with disappointment. “It’s not my fault some chapters are more interesting than others. Did you know that mermaids sink ships cause they might have books on them?”.

“As important as learning the bestiary is to your education and ultimately your survival, you are going to learn about your spirit guides tonight.”, Deaton taking control of the conversation again or at least attempted to.

“Is that like a Patronus?”, Stiles’s mind whirled at the possibilities.

“Yes? That is comparable and if it helps you grasp the concept, then yes, yes it is.”, Deaton sighed. Stiles was an near infinite source of Harry Potter references at the best of times. Learning magic only seemed to increase their occurrences. “Your animal is more than that though. It will be your avatar on the astral plane, allowing you to interact safely with other supernatural creature on a spiritual level. It will guide you when you are lost in fractured realities and will guard you in more ways than you can conceive at this point in time. It will be your fiercest guardian, your closest ally, and your truest friend. ”.

“This isn’t some psycho babble, like getting to know our inner selves, is it?”, Lydia didn’t look impressed about that prospect. This was starting to sound like the New Age physiatrist her parents had tried sending her to, the one she had made cry and run out of the office within five minutes of their first and last session together. 

Both teens jumped back as a barn owl appeared out of nowhere to land on Deaton’s shoulder, twisting its heart shaped face to look at them upside down. “Does this look like babble to you?”, Deaton smiled gently at his bewildered students, the sorcerer in hiding reaching up to pet his familiar. “Come with me.”.

“Where?”, Lydia and Stiles ended up saying at the same time, each in a different tone. Lydia was all wonder and excitement again. Stiles was far more hesitant, his tone cautious. 

“To beyond, of course.”, and with that, Deaton reached out with both hand to touch their foreheads with light fingertips. All that they knew was gone in a blink of an eye.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“Where are we?”, Lydia asked first, something Stiles was very grateful for considering his hyperactive mind was going nutballs crazy at the moment trying to process their new surroundings all at once. 

‘Where’ was a forest that surrounded them, composed of trees tall enough to touch a Technicolor sky of vibrant blues and purples with dashes of gold, silver, and ice white brightness that was only called white by default for lack of a better depictive word. The starry night swirled overhead like a moving Van Gogh painting, achingly beautiful in its dance of light and color.

The tree around them looked old, gnarled and covered with soft moss that appeared velvety to the touch. Garlands of ivy was worn like a dramatic garments among the wood giants, draped over branches like coils of braided emerald silk. This forest felt old to Stiles and yet timeless all at the same time, too quiet to be real like nothing existed here except for the trees that moved all around them without the aid of wind or any moment of air. Stiles had never felt afraid of trees until now. 

“Don’t you know, Lydia? You have been here before though not under the best of circumstances.”, Deaton said gently, his voice raspier than usual.

“Dude! What the hell?!”, Stiles yelped, jumping back from his teacher who was now covered from head to toe in a cloak of white and brown feathers. It took a moment for Stiles to realize that the cloak was actually a giant pair wings folded around the man’s shoulders and that plumes were attached to his skin. Though his face still looked normal enough, which Stiles was grateful for the lack of a beak, Deaton’s eyes were opaque black and glittering like onyx. To her credit, Lydia was the one who recovered first.

“This is the astral plane.”, Lydia murmured, looking around like a child lost in the woods, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist as if in pain. “It was different. The place I was……it was darker. This is nice. It feels safe here.”.

“Places in the astral plane can reflect the mind of the visitor. It is a malleable place of soft reality. It can be shaped by a strong mind though never truly controlled.”, Deaton turned slowly around, his wide spread arms encompassing the world around them in a fluttering fan of feathers. “This is a safe place to visit because I will it to be, because I ask it to be. I make it so through will and intent.”.

“That’s great. Awesome. Can you tell us why you look like you got mauled by a bird?”, Stiles fidgeted. It was nice to know that they were not going to be attacked any time soon but he was dying to find out why Deaton was sporting the Chicken Little look.

“You are your animal.”, Lydia answered for the good doctor, breaking out into a stunning smile as her nimble mind made quick work out of all the possibilities.

“Very good. The owl is me and I am the owl, as you will be your animal. All you need to do is find it.”, Deaton surmised, gesturing expansively with his winged arm.

“How do you do that, Obi wan?”, Stiles muttered, wishing he had skipped devouring the contents of the bestiary instead of the perceived boring parts. In all fairness, it wasn’t like he knew they were actually going to visit an alternate plane of existence or that monsters were so damn interesting.

“Concentrate and it will come to you.”, Deaton told them softly without really telling them anything at all. Stiles thought if Deaton had a mutant power, giving vague Yoda like advice would be it. “If you ask it nicely enough.”.

“Could you be a little more fuzzy on the details? I almost understood all of that.”, Stiles groaned, starting to gnaw on his hoodie’s sleeve in frustration. 

“Stiles…”, Deaton sighed. “At least make the effort to call your animal to you.”.

“Here sprit animal. Come to Stiles.”, Stiles called out into the wooded nothing, making kissing noises that people seemed to think worked on cats and dogs alike. 

“Stiles, shut up!”, Lydia hissed, her eyes pressed firmly shut and her body rigid with focus. 

Giving up so that at least one of them could concentrate, Stiles plopped down on whatever the hell the astral plane was made of, watching the air change colors around him and merge in on itself. It was a neat effect to watch. And that was why concentration was Stiles’ biggest difficulty and why it came as no surprise to him that Lydia found her animal first or more accurately, it found her. Lydia had always been lucky in life that way.

Like a wisp of flame dashing through the cool woods, a fox made of all scarlet gold fur with a long sweeping tail tipped in a shock of white crept out of the dark on delicate paws toward Lydia who knelt down to greet it. The lithe animal sniffed her offered fingertips one by one, its bright gold eyes marked with tentative curiosity and full of strange intelligence as it came to a decision for the both of them. 

Stiles fell back on his ass in surprise when the fox suddenly leapt high in the air and dove straight into Lydia’s chest, disappearing a shower of scarlet sparks. As shocking as that was, the change that occurred next to his friend was even more puzzling. Fox ear’s sprouted out of Lydia’s head, the fur on them shades more red than her strawberry blonde hair while her green eyes took on more golden tones and a long tail graced her already perfect backside, materializing through her clothing with no ill effect to the expensive garments. Stiles became a little mesmerized by the new appendage.

“Oh Stiles…..It’s…it’s amazing.”, Lydia gasped, holding up her hands that now ended in finely curved claws. Upon noticing her tail, she twirled in a better effect to see its curvature and flow of fur.

“Knew you could do it.”, Stiles sighed pensively, his eyes still locked in on Lydia’s new addition. He jumped when a palm connected to the side of his head. 

“Focus, Stiles. You can do this.”, Lydia snapped, glaring down at him which was made all the more menacing by her nearly bejeweled eyes, “Quit doubting yourself and stop staring at my ass.”.

“Yes ma’am.”, Stiles grinned, picking himself off of the ground, the strange earth of it feeling cool and moist like it had just rained. He turned his attention upward instead of toward the woods. Stiles didn’t know why but the sky was calling to him. As lovely, as dark, and as deep the woods were, on an esoteric level they meant nothing to Stiles who had never felt grounded to the earth. He looked up to the night sky for answers, reminding himself to refrain from wishing on stars that did not really exist in a reality that could be potentially shattered with a careless thought.

Stiles didn’t know how long he stared up at the mad night, getting more stressed out with every passing second of no animal appearance. The quiet was really starting to get to him and the celestial riot was beginning to give him a headache. Would it kill Deaton to will up some fireflies or a sky that didn’t look like a post-impressionism acid trip?

“Nothing’s happening.”, Stiles complained to the treetops and open air.

“It will happen when you let it happen.”, Deaton said softly from somewhere beside him as Stiles’s eyes tracked a comet that looped around the nightscape like it was lost.

“Vague is so not working for me.”, Stiles muttered, giving up the ghost of his task with a small sigh of defeat. “Did I mention that?”. It didn’t help Stiles’s frame of mind watching Lydia dance around them gracefully, the girl testing out her new senses and agility on elegant tiptoe, her movements effortless and lissome. 

“It will happen.”, Deaton said the words like they were a promise and a quiet threat all at the same time in his usual opaque manner of twilight speaking. “For now though, we must return. It is not wise to linger here for long periods of time and you both have school in the morning.”

“But…”, Stiles started to argue.

“There will be other chances for you. Be patient.”, Deaton soothed, his words twisting and distorting from mind to ear as the world around them shifted. Lydia and Stiles gasped on actual air that still smelled faintly of char as they reopened their physical eyes in the real world.

“Stiles still has a mess to clean up here.”, Deaton reminded Stiles who cringed at the sparkly disaster that was the vet’s office, before turning to Lydia and the fox at her side. Lydia laughed as she scooped up the fox, looking complete with the animal in her arms. The fox wiggled out and up onto her shoulders, looping itself around her neck like a living stole with its nose tucked under its bushy tail. “Ms. Martin has some soul bonding to do with her new friend.”. 

Stiles stifled a sigh that threatened to escape him. Yeah, that sounded like his life in a nutshell.


	2. “The whole world is a dream, and death the interpreter”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title of the chapter is a Yiddish proverb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO BETA. NOT BETA READ. READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Plus I have no idea what I'm doing with this story. 'shrugs'  
> Still gonna write it though. :)

“If you go out in the woods today….”, Stiles sang softly to himself. “….Crap, that’s about bears.”.

He really, really shouldn’t be here but what should Deaton expect by putting up a big shiny ‘Don’t enter’ sign on the freaking astral plane. That was like showing Stiles the big red button of mystery and potentially death, and telling him not to push it. After his first visit, the astral plane was all Stiles could think about and he was hooked. An entire dimension of non-reality, bendable to his will for him to play in while his body slept? Fuck yeah!

Of course, Stiles took precautions. He wasn’t about to go into this blind and still had some sort of self preservation instinct left. Deaton had warned him and Lydia about the perils of returning there without the aid of a guide or his supervision. The chapters of his study that Stiles had previously ignored in favor of the bestiary also warned of the dangerous things that resided in the dark that could separate his soul from his body or do even worse things than that to it. 

Monsters were quite real and were not shy about hiding their existence on the astral plane because they had no reason to do so. The were’s other selves lived out in the open and as far as Stiles understood it, the astral place was like a were’s closet space for their energy and inborn magic. While a were was in their human shape, their animal parts rested in the other plane of existence, being hauled in and out at will. Pure bloods or born shifters could even actually trade places with their animal and walk about safely there without the need for a guide. It all had something to do with the shifter and animal being one, and the natural magic that bound to two together. Stile had kind of skimmed over that part, planning on reading more about it later. Right now, he was too busy throwing caution to the wind. 

Using his will and mind along with a healthy dose of sleeping herbs, Stiles formed a silver anklet and cord that attached his soul dream self to his slumbering body, rising up effortlessly out of it. It was supposed to be a meditation technique of spirit walking but Stiles figured it would work just as well in the astral plane and the cord would lead him back to his body after he had done some exploring. 

Picturing the woods Deaton had taken them to, Stiles opened his dreamer eyes to find himself in the blessed space of before with chaotic forever night swirling overhead and moist strange earth beneath. It was just as creepy as Stiles remembered it to be so he figured he was in the right place. 

Which was why he was singing to himself. Without Deaton or Lydia here, the shadowed woods of dream space appeared to be much darker and deep. Stile worked his bottom lip between his teeth as he gathered his resolve, glancing down to check and recheck that his chained anklet was still firmly in place. He had no idea where to go but Stiles felt that it was imperative that he found his spirit guide. Something was coming to Beacon Hills and he had to be ready for it.

No matter what the cost.

No matter what the danger.

“You’d better not go alone….”, Stiles whispered to the trees that moved all on their own.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Derek and his wolf were one striding through the night forests of the forever moon. Here Derek gave his animal free reign, letting it fulfill all its needs and base desires to stalk, hunt, run, and howl. As large as Beacon Hill’s preserve was, someone was bound to notice his wolf singing to the moon or lowering the deer population.

So when the wolf scented something jarringly familiar, Derek didn’t try to control it or make any effort to wake himself up. He was too busy enjoying the sensation of running through chilly columns of moonlight that were too bright and too silvery for the real world. The shadows they formed in their wake were pools of ink but the wolf knew instinctively which ones were safe to wade through so that wet night clung to his already dark fur and which ones were bottomless pits of forever falling. 

The scent of energy was light and its trails glittering like stardust to him, wrapping in and out of the trees and undergrowth. Derek inhaled it deeply, tasting the sweetness of vanilla and felt the burn of strange warm spices that he couldn’t even begin to name. All he knew that it was the smell of mate. It was the essence of Stiles.

But that couldn’t be right. Stiles couldn’t…..wouldn’t be here, not in the moon’s secret heart where all werewolves resided, deep in the totem forest of prophetic dreams and waking nightmares. It was impossible or so the man argued with the wolf.

The wolf didn’t think so, the scent of Stiles getting closer and closer with every leap and bound that swift paw took, the shining trials glowing brighter as the wolf homed in on its source.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Something was moving in the woods. He wasn’t alone.

Stiles was sure of it now. This pretend forest was too quiet, so silent he could not only hear the something coming toward him, he could feel it. It was a pressure, similar to the promise of storms that made his skin itch and his head ache. 

It was then Stiles saw it. Two red stars shining in the tree line which he found odd but considering that he was in an alternate reality and state of being, perhaps this was a normal occurrence. Or so his brain tried to reassure him until the stars winked in and out for less than a second, like they were blinking. Like the stars were actually eyes and were staring at him.

Stiles stared back, willing himself not to run. He had been around predators long enough to know that marked you as prey. The question was, what was hunting him? Stiles risked taking a step back, watching as the burning rubies for eyes moved marginally closer, matching him space for space.

Now that was problematic.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Stiles.

Of course, it was Stiles. Out of all beings in creation, it had to be Stiles fucking Stilinski. Derek couldn’t believe his miserable luck. Life truly and utterly hated him, he was sure of it now. It should have been impossible for Stiles to be here of all places and yet, here he was, glowing like a fucking beacon.

The wolf wasn’t surprised in the least and was being quite smug about it. It knew its mate was clever and intelligent. Stiles had proven that time and time again so it was Derek’s own fault for underestimating him. The wolf’s problem though was that their mate smelled like fear now, rankling the spicy vanilla, souring its taste and dimming its light. 

It was also bothering the wolf that their mate was wandering around this place with no defenses, shining like an earthbound star of untapped potential, Stiles’s power and aura like a floating, spider web like gauze made of sparking starlight all around his form. Someone or even worse something was bound to notice him.

Derek know that this had to be Deaton’s fault. This stunk of the old sage’s doing. Derek knew that Lydia and Stiles were training with him but he hadn’t know it was this extensive or that Stiles was that powerful. 

What Derek did know was that it wasn’t safe here for Stiles in more ways than one. The wolf and him could tell that other things were already beginning to awaken and move toward them. That alone threw the wolf’s instinct into overdrive. The want, the need to claim their mate was making Derek feel his control trickling away to nothing because ultimately he wanted all of that too.

When he was human with waking reality on his side, Derek could control these urges, knowing that he truly didn’t deserve anything that he wanted, like a mate and the comfort and the stability it would bring to him. He had been broken and put back together wrong, like a vase reassembled by the blind. He didn’t merit saving, especially by the likes of Stiles.

The wolf had known at first scent what Stiles was, what the boy was meant to be to him. The animal had awakened at their first meeting in the wood, lifting its head to hone in on the tall gangly boy who really had no idea what his best friend was turning into. He smelled like any other teenager, all sweat, too much body spray, and an overabundance of confused hormones, but underlying all that was a strange, enticing sweetness to him. It was enough to catch the wolf’s attention. Their first meeting was brief though, not enough to go on just yet and least not for the human part of him. Derek remembered being strangely thrilled that the kid knew who he was, even though he knew that they were probably never going to meet again. The wolf had disagreed.

Derek wanted to warn Stiles. He truly did, attempting to whisper it but all that came out was a growl.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Stiles’s nerves broke as a low sound came from his stalker, one that shook him to his core and made the woods around him tremble. This was a big bad, something powerful and he was so screwed. 

Breaking the rules of engagement, Stiles turned on his heel and darted, cursing at himself as he did so because he could hear the monster right behind him crashing through the forest after him. To his surprise though, Stiles found himself keeping well ahead of it as he dashed through patches of cold moonlight and trappings of trees that seemed to be moving out of his way. 

In real life, Stiles would have already tripped over a root or ran face first into a stump and Stiles was well aware of that fact. Except he wasn’t in the waking world. He was in one that he could shape and even break with his mind. That remembered bit of knowledge lit a fire in Stiles so he did the first thing he could think of with it by throwing the forest at the monster chasing him. All he needed was a brief moment to access his anklet and follow the cord home.

The Big Bad snarled from somewhere behind him a little too close for Stiles’s liking as the trees lent him their strength by bowing their branches and raised up their roots to catch at claw and snapping jaw. As much as he wanted to look back, Stiles sped himself forward and away, his feet barely touching surreal earth. 

“Help, help help!”, Stiles chanted under his breath as he stumbled into a clearing. It sounded like the monster was shredding the trees into kindling for all its efforts and still coming after him with a renewed vengeance. Stiles would have kept going but ended up coming up short at its middle because the small space was filled with dark menacing shapes that hopped and croaked at him. Shapes with ragged wings, razor beaks, and beady glittering eyes that appraised him. 

In that still moment by the light of moon’s hidden twin, Stiles’s recalled it was called a murder. 

A murder of crows.

Stiles didn’t even have time to scream before he was descended upon from all sides. The silence of the fake night was carved up into ribbons by soft sweeping sound of wings.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The trees was a mere hindrance, the wolf tearing out of their grip when it could or using its fangs to convince it otherwise when it couldn‘t. The trails of soft vanilla light led to a clearing filled with crows but no Stiles. Confused, the wolf advanced, promising death to the birds clad in shades of midnight and secrets. They flew away, taunting the wolf with sharp mocking cries until the space was still and empty again.

Stiles, their mate, was gone.

The wolf raised its head to the dancing night, letting out a deep howl of mourning. In his own sorrow, Derek sang with his wolf.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Stiles woke up in his own bed, his hand spastically taking a tally of his well being until all appendages were accounted for and found in fine condition. A sharp cackle made Stiles fall off the bed completely, the teenager diving for cover out of habit. He peeked over his impromptu ‘chest high wall’ to find two crows in his room. One was hopping around on his floor, stealing his change, while the other stared him down from atop his computer.

It took a moment but in the end, Stiles launched himself over the bed, smiling wide like a cat on crack. Lydia could keep her fox. His guide…his guides were so much cooler.


	3. Never was time it was not, end and beginning are dreams.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The alpha pack attacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from the The Bhagavad Gita.  
> Yeah, I'm throwing you into the deep end here.
> 
> Info is all from Wiki. I don't own it.-  
> "One for Sorrow" is a traditional children's nursery rhyme about magpies. According to an old superstition, the number of magpies one sees determines if one will have bad luck or not. On occasion, jackdaws, crows, bluebirds, and other Corvidae are associated with the rhyme, particularly in America where magpies are less common
> 
> Stiles with a magic bat? Cause why the hell not. I know it's been done before but damn it, I like it.

“Anything I should know about?”

Stiles looked up from his bowl of cornflakes, wondering if it were a loaded question or not. Admittedly, things had become a hell of a lot easier for them both now that Stiles had come clean and told his father about everything going on in Beacon Hill. Every little thing that had happened to him since that fateful day in the woods, when two teenagers went out into the wood looking for some excitement and a dead body. 

The Sheriff had not been pleased, in any sense of the word, to find out what his boy had been up to. Relieved, yes. Happy that his only child had repeatedly run head on into danger and barely escaped with his life to tell the tale, hell no. Their relationship ended up cracked and brittle in places from the strain of it all, but not broken, never that. In the end, all that they had were each other and such bonds of blood are not so easily broken. 

Complete honesty was their new policy, no matter how brutal and bloody it was. The rule now between them was as long as John asked, Stiles would tell him everything, whether he wanted to know all the grim details or not. He had to ask though.

“About?”, Stiles ventured carefully. He couldn’t think of anything too awful that he might of done this week. Blowing up the neighbor’s garbage cans by accident hardly counted, right? 

“When did you get into body art? Or is this a spark thing?”, John motioned to Stiles’s head before tapping behind his own ear to indicate the source of his interest. Stiles grinned around a mouthful of soggy cereal, partially out of relief. His crows were making themselves at home on his body, currently nestled behind his ears, peeking out from beneath the shade of his dark locks. Imbedded into his skin and imprinted on his soul, the crows were defined by complex Celtic knot work in shades of black, garnet, indigo, and violet, the colors rippling together whenever the Corvus corax moved.

“More like a spirit animal thing. They’re my new peeps.”, Stiles smiled, still quite pleased with himself though Deaton had thrown his quiet version of a shit fit about Stiles going off to the astral place by himself. Stiles now had to clean out kitty litter boxes for the next three months but it had totally been worth it. Despite his passive aggressiveness, Stiles could tell that Deaton had been pleased with his progress. 

“They’re gone. I think you embarrassed them.”, John snorted, watching as the crows disappeared with a spray of ink that left trails in his skin before disappearing entirely, “Nice to know your new pets have better taste in jokes than you.”. 

“Whatever. They totally get me.”, Stiles said, watching his crows fly down the length of his arms to glare up at him from his wrists. He thought it was great that the birds navigated around the minefield of moles on his skin. 

John ended up dropping his toast when the crows flew out of Stiles’s flesh, becoming corporeal on the table. “Ah, crap.”, the sheriff muttered, one the crows flying off the table to snatch up the sheriff’s ruined breakfast. The other bird seemed to be conferring with Stiles though, muttering to his son in low croaks and clicks. Stiles didn’t look too happy about it and that alone made the Sheriff uneasy. “Everything alright?”.

“Yes.”, Stiles muttered, not convincing anyone with ears. 

“Stiles….”, John sighed. He knew that his son was just trying to protect him from this brave new world he had entrenched himself in, but it went against every parental instinct. The Sheriff had already buried a beloved wife. He didn’t need to bury their child too. If that happened, John knew he would soon follow them both, drowning himself in the bottom of a bottle. All this supernatural crap left a bad taste in his mouth, but if he could help, John wouldn’t hesitate, no matter how weird it was. 

“I won’t be home tonight.”, Stiles told him softly, looking down at his cereal like it held all the answers to life, the universe, and everything else. “Something bad is coming.”. 

“How bad?”, John made himself ask, ignoring the giant black birds fighting over his toast and being quite noisy about it.

“Do you really want to know?”, Stiles looked up at him now, and part of John wished he hadn’t. His son’s eyes looked too old for his young face, a visage that had lost all its soft baby fat and rounded curvature. What was left was a countenance that had seen too much in too short a time, made lean and sharp from the knowledge that things went bump in the night were real and most of it was hungry. It was the face of a survivor, finished hard and lean by a resolve that came from making choices that no one should have to. 

The fatherly part of him made John want to shoot point blank whoever or whatever had made his child, his wonderful inept child, into this man, the one who sat before him with the grim set expression. The rest of John though appreciated what he saw, the competent person that Stiles had become, the one whose skin glowed faintly with barely contained power that made the air itself crackle and spark.

“No. Something tells me that I had better hear this story after it’s all said and done.”, John admitted, hating himself for saying it, hating it even more when he saw some tension leave Stiles‘s shoulders. He should be able to do better than this, help his son, be a parent to him. “Can I do anything for you? Do you need anything? How can I help?”.

“Keep people off the streets and out of the woods tonight. Set a curfew. Tell them it’s mountain lions or rapid beavers, whatever you have to do.”, Stiles said slowly, already looking distracted. John knew his son’s swift mind was elsewhere, making plans on top of plans. “Stay away from the reserve and don’t go patrolling. Catch up on some paperwork tonight.”. 

Body working in tandem with mind, Stiles was already up and out of his seat, his crows following behind him, the teenager muttering lists under his breath. John caught his arm before he could get too far. “Stiles…..be safe.”, John made himself say. He knew when he let go of Stiles, the Sheriff would be letting his son leave for battle, one that he might not return from. “I want to hear this story when you get back. All of it.”. 

“It might not have a happy ending.”, Stiles warned, hating himself as his father looked older for it. Truths were turning his dad’s hair gray and wearing new lines into his face. 

“I still want to hear it…..”, the Sheriff made himself smile, “…over bacon of course. The real stuff.”.

“Should I be worried that you equate impending bad news to pork products?”, Stiles snorted as he gently pulled himself free from his father. He couldn’t go win a war already wounded. There were so many things he still needed to do, spells he needed to prepare, prayers that needed to be said, offerings to old gods to be made. He still had to call Scott, inform Deaton and Lydia(though they probably already knew but it was the thought that count), and try to warn Derek. With their luck or lack there of, the pigheaded alpha was probably already in the woods being an angst filled martyr. He had yet to learn that his pain and guilt were not effective weapons. 

“No. I just think a win for us deserves bacon.”, John said softly, “Just….just come back home in one piece and I’ll count it as a win.”. He wanted to say more, say the right thing, the words that would bring his child back to him safe and sound. 

It was enough to make Stiles falter for a second, mis-step and stumble as he climbed the stairs. He could only nod in response instead of answering properly, hoping and knowing that it wasn‘t enough to alleviate the Sheriff‘s fears. It was the best he could come up with though. Stiles was done lying to his father.

 

oOo

Derek was dying. He could feel it, knew the sensation well. He had felt it before, the chill feel of walking hand in hand with death. His wolf was familiar with it as well and was panicking, claws biting into flesh under skin, desperate for fight or flight. Last time when they were like this with a bullet wolf bane laced bullet lodged in his arm, they had sought out help, an unlikely ally in unfamiliar territory. A festering mixtures of smells and constant sound, Derek re-experienced the fresh hell that was high school, wading through cliques, hormones, and rampant insecurities in search of Scott. It was there his wolf caught scent of vanilla, faint yet everywhere, overlapping and weaving throughout the maze of halls and rooms. Derek had followed it to the baby blue Jeep, like it was the way to home, salvation, and redemption. 

It wasn’t here though. Not deep in the forest surrounded by the Alpha pack. They had found him alone, had found him wanting. Derek had been judged by his peers and his pack was considered pathetic, composed of an undead uncle, and two teenagers, one of which liked an omega more than his own alpha and the other a stubborn pretentious ass of a former kanima. If Derek was a little bit more self loathing, he would have to admit that they were right and he didn‘t deserve to live. 

For all his sins though, Derek was about to pay them all off in full at once, pound of flesh by pound of torn out flesh. He was going to die bloody but he refused to die begging. The fallen alpha made himself stagger back onto his feet, glaring at his attackers, the alpha pack fanning out in a rough circle all around him. Multiple pairs of ruby eyes flashed like hellish fireflies, winking in and out as they paced. The noises that they made were worse by far, the still of the night broken with the wet snaps of jaw, the deep seated growls of the victorious, and the grind of sharp fangs rubbing against each other. 

The alpha pack was feral, more beasts than human. Born and bred werewolves, they embraced the beast within but unlike the Hale pack who lived for unity and family, they only focused on the kinetic, the predator, the machine. To them, pack only meant power. Who was Derek to preach about family values and dissuade them otherwise? He couldn’t exactly present the merits of his own pack or the beliefs of his family while bleeding out, but for the sake of everyone, he would do his damnedest and at least try. Maybe the alpha pack would spare his betas. Undead or not, Derek was grateful to have his uncle back in his pack. He could at least trust Peter to keep the betas safe long enough for them to hide or escape. 

 

Trying not to sway and making an attempt to shove his inside parts causally back in his gut, Derek faced the alphas. He was healing slow, most of his wounds still open and on fire, his body attempting to keep up with all the damage. Derek tried not to wonder what being torn apart alive was going to feel like as he put on a brave face. 

“WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?!”.

Apparently, life couldn’t even let him die with some damn dignity. Karma was a bitch and it’s name was Stiles Stilinski, the little shit himself walking up to them, like he owned the night itself. His partner-in-crime was at his heels, Scott growling at the alphas like the born moron he was. If he wasn’t so busy keeping his intestines becoming used to open air, Derek would have face palmed. It wasn’t helping anything either that his wolf was on their side, practically crying with relief. He wished he had that much confidence in, well, anything really.

Bold as the moon and seeming twice as bright, Stiles practically strolled up to them, wearing that wonderfully horrible red hoodie of his, the one that made Derek smile on the inside whenever he saw it. Mocking, always toeing the lines of decency and absurdity, that was Stiles through and though. Good taste, thy name was not Stilinski. Common sense wasn’t either for that matter, Stiles grinning at them all now like a cat on crack and was strangely enough carrying a studded bat over his shoulder.

“Is this the Hale pack we have heard so much about? A human and an omega?”, Derek heard one of the alphas growl. 

“They look tasty.”, said another, the sound of drool hitting the ground from a slobbering maw. 

“Oh, that’s so sweet! The little human came armed.“, the one closest to Stiles snarled, “Are you planning on giving me some splinters with that shit? With your little bat?“. That was all they had time to say cause Stiles just kept on coming. Without pause or warning, he swung the bat, the end of it connecting neatly with the nearest werewolf’s head. Normally, nothing notably would have happened except for one having a very pissed off werewolf on their hands. 

This time…..This time though, the werewolf’s head came nearly clean off of its shoulders as the alpha went down in a mess of blood and still smoking flesh. The werewolf didn’t get back up again. Derek was relieved to see everyone else was gaping at Stiles as well, and it just wasn’t him hallucinating due to blood loss. 

“I don’t know. You tell me, bitch. How’s it working for you?”, Stiles grinned, so fearless and recklessly daring Derek honestly didn’t know if he wanted to fuck Stiles or slap some much needed sense into him. 

“Dude, where did you get that?”, Scott was wide eyed, so obviously he hadn’t been expecting that result either. That was the most charitable thought Derek could come up with for him at the moment. It continually amazed Derek that Scott was still among the living.

Stiles’s own thoughts were actually along the same lines, just taking different routes. He also thought it was a good thing that werewolves had that rapid healing factor going for them cause Scott was going to give himself whiplash from looking back and forth between him and the alpha’s corpse so rapidly. 

“I made it in shop.”, Stiles shrugged to an answering incredulous look from his best friend. “Hey, it was either this or a birdhouse.”.

“Coach didn’t have a problem with you making a weapon in class?”, Scott mused. Flinstock really needed to stop teaching other classes. 

“I told him it was for whacking moles. He was strangely fine with that.”, Stiles shrugged.

‘This’ was a bat made of solid mountain ash with magical incantations burned and carved into it length. Stiles particularly liked the iron spikes driven through width of the bat and the braided leather wrapped around its handle ensuring a steady grip. Earlier, Scott had pointed out that iron didn’t have an effect on werewolves. Stiles had been willing to bet metal treated with wolfbane and engraved with runes of pure kick ass would though. The dead alpha at his feet was proof enough of that. 

Remembering that wolves could smell fear…… and oh my god, he’d just killed someone….yeah, that someone was planning on killing them all….but shit, have the panic attack later when there weren‘t things ready to eat you…, Stiles tried to stay focused on the positive. He hadn’t been too sure how effective the bat would be. He was stoked and more than a little relieved that the answer was ‘fucking awesome’. Yay. One down, the rest of the alpha pack to go. 

Derek could only stare. The frightened, nervous boy he had met so long ago in the wood now stood before them all a man, his lanky frame filled out muscular and lithe having finally grown into his hands and feet. Once a spastic mess capable of tripping over a flat surface, Stiles moved now with a grace that came with experience, age, and running for your life quite frequently. His wolf howled in appreciation, finding Stiles worthy. Much to his own surprise, Derek found that he did as well. 

All his gazing in admiration was cut short as the two alphas closest to him burst into flame, the werewolves desperately rolling around on the forest floor trying to put themselves out. The source was Stiles, who casually tossed a small fireball up and down in his free hand. 

“Nice, dude.”, Scott grinned, impressed with his friend. Stiles had come a long way from mistimed explosions. 

“Yeah, I’m totally making Latin my bitch.”, Stiles smirked. Of course, it helped that he had a beautiful study partner who mercilessly berated him every time he screwed up. Lydia was in her element when it came to insulting people descriptively in a dead language. 

“YOU’RE DEAD!”, was howled in unison at the pair. Derek’s heart hit the floor of his stomach as what remained of the alpha pack surged forward, all fangs and claws baring down upon Stiles and Scott like a storm of swords. 

And then all the stars went out.

At least that is how it seemed at first, that the night itself had descended upon them, snuffing out all the light with it. Not even the blessed luminance of the moon shone through this void. The light was all gone but sight was only one of five senses. Though he could no longer see, Derek could hear, and hear quite well, like all of his kind could. Heartbeats, breathing, talons and teeth clinking together, and underneath all that, the soft movement of wings. Hundreds of them, the murmur of soft feathers like cool silk over the senses. 

“One crow sorrow.” shattered the dark and became the only noise within its confines as everything else came to a standstill. Stiles’s voice was soft. It didn’t need to be loud considering his audience. It carried anyway, floated on unseen wings and was echoed by throats that usually croaked more than spoke. 

“Two crows joy.” and then someone off to Derek’s left was dying bloody. The wolf could smell the alpha’s pain through the void, heard it as hundreds of razor beaks torn a werewolf apart into tiny bite sized pieces. 

“Three crows a letter“ more wolves were fighting or at least trying to. The movement caused the fake night to shudder and shift revealing the cloaking was all made of moving shadows. Crows of shade flew and dived on swift wings at the alphas. 

“Four crows a boy“. Stiles’s voice was calm, patient even. Derek could catch glimpses of him every now and again as the night moved all around him like a nexus of glittering midnight made of claw and obsidian.

“Five crows silver, Six crows gold.”, made Derek shiver. The air was thick with the scents of death and blood and pain and yet nothing touched him. It left him feeling cold for some reason.

“Truce! We call truce!” was yelled out from somewhere. Derek didn’t feel a need to answer it. His wolf didn’t either. The alpha pack deserved what was coming to them. 

“Seven crows a secret never to be told.” was whispered right by Derek’s ear. He turned his head to see Stiles standing beside him, all pale and shimmering with power. Two crows, large evil looking birds, rode his shoulders on either side, their lethal beaks and claws gunmetal dark, their too black eyes filled with the knowledge that only came from consuming the secrets of the dead. He had never looked more beautiful. 

“Eight crows for a wish.”, Stiles told Derek. He didn’t know where Scott was but fuck, if he could bring himself to care, to occupied by Stiles moving closer to him. The kid…the man…had a good inch on him now and it was a little disconcerting.

“Nine crows for a kiss.”, Derek shuddered as hot breath ghosted over his skin, Stiles so close, too close, as he leaned into his side to take his weight. The alpha was torn between shoving him away to prove how strong and capable he was, and being grateful to Stiles for seeing how hurt he actually was.

“Ten crows a surprise you should be careful not to miss.”, Stiles practically sang to the sky and the midnight wood, making the world tremble to do his bidding. The screaming, the howls of the fallen were all turning more into softer death rattles now, the forest readily accepting the new ghosts. Derek could still hear some resistance, but it was waning as blood soaked into the thirsty dirt.

“Eleven crows for health.”, they were joined by Scott who walked on Derek’s other side, the younger werewolf looking no worse for wear. He didn’t dare to touch the wounded alpha so Derek did his best to ignore him.

“Twelve crows for wealth.”, Stiles sighed, the spell coming to its inevitable end as the powers he had summoned wound down. It didn’t matter though. All the wolves were dead or dying, leaking out what was left of their life from all the innumerable tiny cuts that covered their skin and refused to heal. It was worth it though, it was worth the price he would have to pay. Like all things in life, magic wasn’t free and this kind of power, what he had been willing to do tonight, came at a high cost. Stiles kept telling himself it would be alright, that he had made the right choice. It was worth it. 

Derek realized he was going to live, he was going to survive, his pack was going to survive. They had won or more accurately, Stiles had won this one for them, saved everyone. Impossibly, unbelievably, they were safe.

So why did Derek feel so fucked?

“Thirteen crows beware it's the devil himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments and kudos are always welcome. Opinions about my sanity will not make me write any faster or better but do make my day more interesting. Cookies would be nice though. nom nom nom


End file.
